I don't know who I am anymore. My closest to new ego propulsion is my comicbook super-alterego THRUST. He defends himself from ex-girlfriends with superpowers as they unleash their female fury upon his person. But once, long ago, I was Charles Crown, heir to the Scorched Earth, the Savior of the Seven Sins, also known as Agent Fenris.
I was a dog boy lunatic with a programmed smile, AI divining my actions after death stole my formative years. Only a childhood canine attack survived in my psyche when the child in me died, long live the kid! I was HotShot, superspy with a sly eye & lone wolf style.
Agent Spider resides in all men who've sacrificed soul for knowledge arcane. He runs shit, locks it down, shoots it out. Flipside assassin sidekick ninja savage savant. He's Freudian Darkness manifest, the last man in the loop, the first to slaughter. Nothing is his mission, negation as Salvation.
Freemasons snagged my Father, my Mother ran, and I resisted their ritual interrogation of my sacred beliefs, silver haired psychic servant slicing through my brain meats, I dreamt, I killed him, ended the charade. We sat beside one another, brother amongst brother, solving symbolic puzzles with Nic Cage and National Treasure 2!
I am Chaos Magick, dipping tippy-toes across every single sentence that saturates the Masses, Christian Cross meets Hexagram Hermeticism, Saluting the Star of David. Sticks & Stones make up my weapons against Spiritual Strikes, slingshot superballs slung sideways straight shooter, believing the Impossible with every stroke.
Agent Fenris is scrawled, scratching his fierce fury through her skin, yet she's an Asian Viking goof named Gin. Ginzilla Beastmode, Psychic Shaman Visionary, healer in transition, Higher Learning Channel spokeswoman. Her naturalistic harmonious magical procedures have streamlined her surgical precision persona into a badass from beyond the Veil.
The Age of Horus is fully upon us. Malleable society sits and waits.
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